


Pleasures of the Flesh

by dilangley



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Cutting the lights on during the fade to black, F/M, Messy honest smut, Missing Scene, lovemaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 10:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilangley/pseuds/dilangley
Summary: “Diana…” Her name sounded lovely in his scratchy burr. “May I?”The scene after the fade-to-black in Veld.





	Pleasures of the Flesh

  
  


His kiss touched not only her mouth but her whole being. Goosebumps leapt up from her skin, her heart jolted to new speed, her lungs expanded with their shared air. It made her soul stir in its moorings. 

Diana tipped her head back when they parted and observed his face, mouth slightly open, relaxed, as if having kissed her, he was awash in relief. He opened his eyes and met her gaze.

She reached up with her fingertips again. She followed the hard bone of the forehead, rounded the blue eyes to trace the line of his cheekbone, slid down the imperfect slope of his nose, and pressed along the twin bumps of his lips. Only when she stopped did he smile. She smiled back.

“Τη όμορφο χαμόγελο.” The familiar Greek tickled her tongue, different somehow spoken in Man’s world with a mouth that had tasted another. Some of her sisters lived in love with one another, but she had never seen stars in the eyes of another Amazon. This kiss had been her first.

“What does that mean?” His hand moved from her cheek, hovered between them. She could almost see the decision-making on his face as he wondered what he wished to touch next.

“What a beautiful smile,” she repeated in English.

“Beautiful is not a word used to describe men most of the time. Only women.” His hand made its choice. His fingers slid between hers, opening and filling space. 

“Why?” She slid her thumb along the outside edge of his and watched her effect on him, admired the way his breath caught, chest stalling mid-contraction for an instant. “Beautiful means pleasing to the senses or the mind. It is a term without gender.”

“You’re right.” His smile quirked. “I’m starting to see that you usually are.”

He lifted their hands and turned hers up. He kissed it, a lingering touch, and then he spoke again.

“Diana…” Her name sounded lovely in his scratchy burr. “May I?”

The question sought permissions he could not say aloud. Her time in this world had been brief, but she had already acquainted herself with its repression, its discomfort with what was natural. In their layers of thick, plain fabrics; in their hats and updos; in their customs of distance and restraint, Diana had read their fear of themselves. Perhaps mankind feared its sexuality because it had already lost control of its bloodlust. Without knowing Ares, perhaps they believed war came from allowing themselves to feel rage and desperation. 

Whatever the reason, she knew Steve would not ask her to join him in any of the erotic actions he desired, and for once, she sensed no benefit to debating the whys of his customs. Her flesh quivered to be touched by him.

“Yes,” she replied, not releasing his hand. She asked him the same question. “May I?”

He smiled again. This time, the gesture was tighter, his eyes brighter, something bigger than a smile lurking under it, something raw. 

“Yes.” 

They kissed again, and she learned of yet another kind of kiss: kin to the soft hunger of the first but different in its speed, its depth. Steve nipped at her bottom lip, buried his hands in her dark hair, and she pulled their bodies closer together until the thrumming of hers matched his. Wordlessly, they shed layers as he guided her towards the bed, a narrow structure of cheap homespun and flat pillows. Her coat lay by the door, his shirt haphazardly over the foot of the bed, her dress wrinkled beneath them.

Diana knew pleasure. It could be sought shamelessly on Themyscira, and she knew the satisfying ache of tracing her own path over her body, cupping her heavy breasts in her own hands. She knew how two fingers crooked inside and another two stroking could bring her to quiet, shuddering release.

Yet Steve, breathless in awe of her, shivering in the chilly air, only had to lean back and look down at her, touch every inch of her with his gaze, to make her breath come short.

She took in the sight of him: broad, entirely male, erect, and wondered at the descriptions of men as statuesque, bodied like Greek gods. Steve’s beauty was better than that. His humanity had shivering gooseflesh, a drop of sticky liquid on the head of his cock, a patch of soft, curling hair at his chest. The reality of him pressed its fingerprints on her heart.

He sank to her, and the ease of their togetherness bled into their lovemaking. She guided his hands to what she knew of her own desires, and he obliged willingly, eagerly, but also showed her more: teeth scraped against her inner thigh, tongue slid across an expectant nipple, hips lifted to spread her wide for her pleasure. The sweet peak made her come without hesitation, nose pressed into the slope of his neck, mouth open and gasping. 

Then she learned her way around his desires. How a finger slid up the rigid underside of his cock made the muscles of his shoulders clench, how her breasts pressed around his erection made him breathe faster, harder, as she stroked. 

She brought him to messy, groaning release in her hands.

“That is not how I saw this going,” he muttered when she had wiped them both with his shirt.

She smiled, kissed the slope of his shoulder, but as she turned her head, she saw a troubled look on his face. It took her a moment to interpret it.

“You’re upset.” She lifted up on her elbow, watched the confirmation of her words in his eyes. 

“Yeah.” He scratched his nose. “We were going to… have intercourse.”

“Have I disappointed you?” She had not expected this reaction. Their skin still glowed rosy, flushed warm and satisfied.

He jolted, rolling onto his elbow as well and looking straight at her, searching her face to interpret it just as she had done a moment ago. Then an exhale escaped him like a barking laugh. 

“Diana, I just felt things I’ve never dreamed of feeling before. Of course I’m not disappointed. I’ve disappointed _you._ ”

“I am not disappointed.” Now she frowned. “I don’t understand.” 

He tried to explain it to her, and she tried to respect his explanation, frame it as part of his culture, but it sounded ridiculous. It seemed he had expected their coupling to be pure, a moment of romantic intercourse and tidy timelines, and the beautiful, spontaneous physicality of it stood at odds with his expectations. She tried to imagine how any woman could be disappointed by having shared equal pleasure, and she expressed as much.

“Are we not going to have another opportunity?” She asked pointedly. He rolled toward the bedside table and lifted his watch, squinting at it in the darkness of the room. She watched his breath form a small cloud and realized the cold in the air around them. 

“The night’s still young,” he admitted. 

“Then you should be happy.”

Now he smiled again. “I am.”

They lay together, and slowly drifted closer, tangling legs, holding hands. Diana had always felt safe -- Themyscira had been her home and her haven -- but the way Steve’s hand protectively curled on her hip offered a different sensation. Promises that did not yet have words bubbled in her, and she let them ache in her chest without attempting to know them. Instead she wanted to know him.

“Tell me about your other lovers.”

Rather than startle this time, he turned to her, kissed her shoulder. “What do you want to know?” 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, smiling. “I’m curious about you before war.”

“So about me and love?” He trailed a hand over the curve of her hip, a languid appreciation of the flesh.

“Yes.” 

“So my other lovers…. Let’s see…” He drummed his fingers out against her skin -- one, two, three, four, five -- as if counting. She watched his face to see if he thought he was fooling her; the twinkle in his eyes made it clear he didn’t. “Two. There have been two other women.”

“The first was a girl in London.” He paused as if calling up her memory. “The soldiers were just starting to arrive, and the girls were just crazy over us. If you went to a pub, you had two or three swooning blondes around you, touching your arms, telling you how handsome you were. Margaret told me I had the best blues she had ever seen and asked me if I wanted to kiss her.”

Diana smiled at the fondness in his voice and did not interrupt, though she had the thought of her own agreement. His eyes were beautiful. His hand kept steady pace against her skin, gently retouching places it had already explored.

“I was scared and didn’t know what I was doing, and neither did she. We apologized and got out of there quick when it was over.”

His voice dropped when he continued, his hand stalled. “The second was a French whore on a really bad day.”

“You paid her for sex.”

“Yes.” He did not elaborate, and Diana wondered at the tremendous sadness she felt for him. She disapproved of currency for intimacy, but she had seen his face when he talked about marrying, having children: he disapproved of currency for intimacy too. What must his bad day have been to lead him to such a choice?

“Don’t look at me like that.” He grabbed her hips and rolled her onto him. It was impossible not to smile when he looked up at her like that, like she hung the moon in the sky just when he most needed its light. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“What do you want to do after the war?” She straddled his stomach, knees bent, legs tucked, insides humming.

Now the gleam in his eyes turned wicked. “I already told you that, Diana. ” He drew his mouth along the curve of her neck and made her shiver. “I want to read the paper in the mornings.” 

His hands slid down the curves of her legs. “Drink just one cup of coffee a day.” 

His fingers pressed into the firm length of her calves. “Give Etta two months’ paid vacation because I won’t be doing a damn thing.” 

She gasped as he kneaded his fingers into her foot, pressing his knuckle along the arch, making her hiss with a sensation just between pleasure and pain.

“Make love in the middle of the day.” The invitation in those words hung in the air; she leaned down to cover his mouth with hers.

They melted together, and every detail became a spark inside of their fire. Each searching finger found skin craving its attention, every muscle whispered out to be tightened by just the right touch. The emotion of the moment surprised and delighted her, so different from simple pleasure. Her body wanted him, ached for fullness. Sweet satisfaction licked its way through her when he pushed inside, unhesitating even as he met the clenching resistance she could not help. 

They made love to the sound of drunken carousing downstairs, the chorus of “The Parting Glass” covering moans and throaty, breathy mews. They still smelled of the battlefield, gunpowder, dust, and sweat, and of the thick, earthy smell of their sex. She felt it all as they explored, as they turned one another’s bodies, laughing at slick fumbling one moment and then groaning at success the next. 

He came across her stomach, splatters of come roping the soft skin, and with fingers still quivering from his orgasm, drew an S. She scraped her fingernails along the inside of his thighs and blew whispery, hot kisses across him. They paid no heed to their stamina, outlasting one another, until finally, Steve shuddered and begged mercy.

“Diana.” He murmured against her hip. “I had visions of you falling back spent and satisfied, but it’s going to have to be me.”

She chuckled even as his words vibrated pleasingly against her skin. “Next time then.”

“I like the sound of that.” His sleepy mumble barely finished before he scooted back up the pillow and fell asleep.

To the rasp of his gruffly snore, Diana dreamed of after the war. Her work would be done soon, and she could devote herself to peace: paper reading and coffee drinking and lovemaking in the middle of the day. Steve Trevor could show her the ropes, and she could keep making his heart fill his eyes, and if other moments could be like these, they could never, never have enough of them.


End file.
